Page 107 of The Play

We spend the next few minutes shouting to each other over the music. When the current song changes, Demi shrieks in delight. It’s “Despacito,” the Bieber version, and the entire club goes wild.

“Come salsa with me,” she begs, tugging on my arm. “This is my song!”

“Nope,” I say firmly. “I don’t salsa.”

“I do,” Dean announces, holding out his hand.

“You salsa?” She gawks at him before turning to me. “He’s beautifulandhe salsas? What on earth am I doing here withyou?”

She’s joking, but I still glare at her. “He’s taken.”

“Super taken,” Dean confirms. “But I’m a salsa master thanks to my girl. Allie-Cat and I took lessons.”

Demi takes his hand, and I swallow a sigh as I watch them saunter toward the dance floor.

“She’s cool,” Logan tells me.

“I know. We’re good friends.”

“Just friends?”

I shrug. “She got out of a relationship a month ago.”

“So?”

I twist the cap off my water bottle and take a hasty sip. I’m not sure why I put that out there. Then I shift my gaze to the dance floor and almost choke on my water.

Goddamn Dean. Since when does he salsa dance? And he looks damn good doing it. Dean might’ve skipped out on law school to become a gym teacher, but the man still oozes money. He’s wearing khakis and a crisp white shirt, its top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. His blond hair falls onto his forehead as he spins Demi around as if they’re onDancing with the Stars.

“Check out that footwork,” Garrett marvels.

They’re even drawing stares from the other dancers. Demi’s in leggings, leather boots, and a red tank, but the way her hips are moving, I can totally envision her in a bright sundress and high heels, the ones with straps that wrap around a woman’s ankles. Maybe a flower in her hair. Red lipstick painted on those pouty lips.

Annnnd now I’m acting out my own salsa-themed porno in my head. Which Dean brings to life when he lifts one of her legs and props it on his hip, and they do a sexy little grinding move before he spins her around again. Demi’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with joy. Dean whispers something in her ear and she starts giggling.

Jealousy constricts my throat. Obviously I’m being ridiculous. There’s always chemistry when two hot people are dancing, it’s inevitable. But the sight of Dean’s hands on Demi’s body makes my blood boil.

“What the hell is adespacitoanyway?” I grumble. “Is it like a desperado?”

Hannah bursts out laughing. “It means slowly.”

“Whatever. It’s a shitty song.” I don’t really believe that. If anything, I’m indifferent to the damn track. I just wish it would end already. I promptly glare daggers at the dance floor again.

“Just friends?” Logan asks knowingly.

The sigh I’ve been holding slips out.

“Aw, he has a crush,” teases Hannah.

“Nah,” I lie. “I’m putting sex and dating on the backburner this year. I want to focus on hockey.”

“I get it.” Garrett nods a couple times. “But there’s more to life than hockey, Davenport.” He’s gazing at his girlfriend as he says that. Hannah is his entire world. I have no doubt he’d give up anything for her, even a flourishing career.

“I know there is, but I made myself a promise. You know, to try to grow as a person and all that shit.”

The guys laugh loudly, while Hannah offers an admiring smile. “I actually think that’s commendable,” she says. “We get so caught up in sex and relationships, sometimes it’s good to take some time for yourself.”

“But sex is so good,” Logan protests.

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